


And Hold

by RosebudBasilton



Series: Simon Snow and the Six Elementals [2]
Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: And all that jazz, Angst, Anxiety, Demons, Depression, F/F, Fluff, M/M, Magic, Romance, SnowBaz, Supernatural Elements, The whole shabang, love!, no jazz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-02-26 06:48:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13230240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosebudBasilton/pseuds/RosebudBasilton
Summary: Where they left together as fugitives with a common goal, their friendship will be put to the test as loyalties wear thin in a tight-knit group. Too many lies and secrets will cause revenge to burden the group, and navigating relationships won't be so easy when trust runs dry.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> she's BACK and TERRIBLE at TITLES. had half a mind to stretch this fic to three ~books~ and call them 'Catch, Pause, Engage' bc clearly the message of this story is that we should all appreciate rugby far more than we do.

**Baz**

Being stuck in a car with three Magelings and my recently retired best friend is about as tense as the tone might suggest. Emily has taken to hiding herself with a petty cloaking spell to sleep, Bunce has put her headphones in and is to listening to something at a painful volume, most likely at the consequence of Agatha, who has decided to hold the longest game of Eye Spy ever.

I don't mind this too much, given that half of this road-trip has been a straight forward road through stagnant farmland, and the surrounding conversation has been mostly stimulating, even a little helpful at times, keeping me focused. Besides, it's given me an opportunity to smooth over any Agatha-related hurts with Simon. He's been giggling along with us, leaning back in the passenger seat (which, he's informed me, is a  _bloody luxury_ , given his life of taxis and buses and trains before now), looking the absolute part for a teenage escapade. I keep thinking that he looks too cinematic for this. When he throws his head back laughing at Agatha's  _obvious_  Eye Spy cheats, or when he traces the stray raindrops over the inside of the glass. When the evening drowns us in blue hues and the orange streetlights hit his profile - I can't help thinking that I should be filming him. He looks like he belongs in the beginning of an indie film trailer, right before anything goes wrong.

And I can feel, heading towards Brighton, that everything will go wrong.

"Okay, okay!" Agatha declares. "I've got one! I spy, with my pretty little eye, something beginning with D."

Since waking up, Agatha's been a jaunty kind of calm about all of this mess. She's more playful, less nervous, filling the car with a light kind of laughter that we all desperately craved. The scars on her face and body have proved no bother to her, even though some of them are still open under enchanted bandages. Apparently the blatant ignorance of anything being wrong was too much for Emily though, hence her sudden isolation. If I don't stare directly at her in the rear-view mirror, my peripheral vision can see her sleeping against the car door, tear stains on her cheeks, wrapped up in my stolen jacket. I have to take any victories I can with Emily at the moment, so the quiet sentiment is settled close to my heart.

"Ducks?" Simon guesses, a foolish attempt, too. We long ago sussed out that  Agatha will only bring the game up if she has a truly unconventional thing to spy.

Predictably, Agatha yelps a "Nope!" and eagerly waits for me to join in.

"Is it...dickhead?" I ask, with a teasing lilt and a glance over at Simon. He feigns a broken heart as Agatha gives off a jovial giggle. 

"No!" She replies, at the same time Simon declares war on my honour.

See, I've played many a tedious game of Eye Spy with siblings far younger than the two apparent  _children_  in this car. It's easy enough to steer the game into a far more entertaining direction with more ridiculous answer over time, until the parents get annoyed and demand we play 'the Silence Game'. However, in a car where I appear to be the acting parent, there's no risk of that. 

"Keep guessing!" Agatha urges.

I guess 'Disaster' while Simon goes for 'Damnation', and they only get worse from there. I'm not entirely sure what purpose the game is serving anymore, given I feel more distracted than ever by Simon's eyes ghosting over me, seeming to fixate on my jaw at times, but I enjoy the loss of silence while it's lasting.

"You guys are terrible," Agatha decides. "I'm telling. It's 'desperation.'"

I could have swerved off the road. Simon looks scandalised in faux offence. Agatha, bless her, seems to have received the intended reaction. She laughs and claps, leans forward through the middle of the front seats and pokes my cheek. "Basil's got a crush!" She not so subtly elaborates.

"No one said that," I defend, fighting back a grin.

"I did. And you did, with your  _eyes._ "

Simon's looking like he's about to open the door and jump out, but has instead taken to sipping from his water-bottle in any attempt to dowse the fire creeping around his face and up his neck. I note that down to remember any time later, when I feel particularly down on myself for this entire ordeal. He even shoots me a quick grin and a wink, as if to say  _'they don't know  the half of this'_. 

Agatha, never sufficed with a minimal amount of meddling, leans right over to my ear and (barely) whispers: "He's a good snog, don't worry."

Simon, who was always bound to hear this, chokes. If it were possible, his neck and cheeks would burst and bleed with the embarrassment that's rushed to his face. "Agatha," he sputters, which I think is supposed to be a warning.

"What was that phrase Emily used?" Agatha ponders aloud. I curse the blood in my system for pinching colour into my cheeks. " _The sexual tension is making me horny from here..._ "

I curse Emily even more for sharing that with Agatha.

"Oh, wow," Simon mutters, his magic fizzing atop his skin in a way I've never felt before. He's not going off, that's for sure, but it feels like it's moving. Casting at half the speed. It swirls and suffocates only him, until it engulfs him, and he vanishes.

"Simon?!" I call out. Agatha is making a face fit for a Home Alone poster.

"I'm here!" He replies. "I'm... Sorry, I didn't mean to...disappear."

Had the situation been in my favour, I would have laughed at him and poked the 'empty' space until I jabbed his eye, but no. He's so uncomfortable that his half-functional magic has hidden him from me completely. I want to shrink down to a rat, like Hollywood vampires can, and scuttle somewhere unreachable, but I'm in control of a car and that would be utterly irresponsible as a driver.

Though not  _officially_  illegal.

"Here!" Agatha yells, leaning over the console again and trying to grab the steering wheel. "Turn here! Right, right,  _right_ , turn  _right_. Crowley, heed an instruction you control freak."

To be completely candid, I missed the turn off and made an  _officially_  illegal U-Turn in order to get up the street in question. However: "That's a  _big statement_ , coming from someone trying to steer the car from the cheap seats."

We travel for a few more minutes with only the sound of Agatha babbling on about the neighbourhood gossip from 3 years ago, occasionally finding it appropriate to give me directions. Simon materialises slowly, from a faint ghost to a proper, opaque boy, just as I pull into the driveway of our new headquarters.

"Okay," I sigh. "Agatha, you get Emily out of her isolation spell. Bunce and Snow, you go inside and suss out what we're going to need in the way of food. I'll start bringing things in."

"Yes sir," Agatha salutes. Simon nods stiffly and Bunce all but falls out of the car in a haze of sleep. I find it appropriate to leave the car before Emily reappears, seeing as it'll only dowse my mood further. Really, none of this feels so grand. I was in a good place with Simon, now he won't look at me. Emily still hates my guts enough to almost entirely remove herself from the car to avoid me. As much as I love and appreciate Agatha's attempts to keep spirits up, I do just wish she would leave it all alone.

A nightmare within a nightmare, as far as I'm concerned.   
  


**Simon**

A few weeks ago, I couldn't bear the sight of Baz, let alone be in a room (nay, a  _car_ ) with him. I would have never imagine myself spending an entire car trip just thinking about kissing him. 

It was nothing completely alien, but hours of countryside and his low, boyish voice spinning my head in circles gave my imagination a little too much to run with. Agatha's constant prodding at  _whatever_  this is between Baz and I clearly didn't help - for a second in the car I thought she'd noticed just how desperate  _one of us_  was getting. 

I pull Penny over to the kitchen as soon as we're inside the house, and sit on one of the bar stools at the bench. She looks surprised to not be in a car, and even more surprised to be awake. I consider letting her register reality before I unload my crisis onto her, but I only have so much patience. 

"Pen, I think I'm in trouble," I begin. She blinks owlishly. "Romance kind of trouble. With  _Baz_ , can you believe? We nearly kissed back in the Catacombs.  _Kissed._ A seal-the-deal kind of kiss as well. I might be going mad."

"You're not," she yawns.

"No, but- Penny, don't you see? Baz and I.  _Basilton_. hated me since first year."

"If you say so."

"Penny, you're not listening! I'm having a crisis! I don't even know if I'm into guys. Am I gay? I don't know!"

Penny gives me a patient glare. "I just woke up," she reminds me. "Can we please focus on sandwich fillings and breakfast options before we even  _touch_  your identity crisis?"

It's a fair point. "Fine," I concede. "Fine! But I'm glad you're referring to it for what it is - a  _crisis_."

Lips pressed into a thin line, Penny gives me one more authoritative look. "Simon, in all your years of theorizing Basilton' vampirism - which, albeit, you were right about - how many times did you bring up his super-sensory-capabilities. Such as enhanced hearing skills."

I try to connect the ideas she's bringing up, drawing a blank, until I realise. "Oh, fuck," I breathe.

"Yeah."

I can see Baz at the car, through the main room's window, having paused in his step to listen. We catch eye contact for just a second. He manages a tight smile, which is better than the absolutely gaunt face I'm giving him. Realising that might be the only reaction he's going to get, he looks away and continues carrying boxes inside. I, with every fiber of my being, want to throw up.

"Oh, Penny - I fucked up," I admit.

"He can still hear you," she points out.

"Yeah, but -  _fuck!_ " I lower my voice to a whisper and hope I can cheat a superhuman. "I didn't mean it like it was gross, I just meant it like  _I don't know what's happening_. This is new and shit!"

"Simon, he can probably still hear you, even if you whisper," Penny chuckles. "Go and say this to  _him_. I'll sort out the groceries."

"No," I answer, noncommittally. "I'll help you. I need to think, anyway."

She raises an eyebrow. "Digging yourself a hole, here, Snow."

" _Penny._ "  
  



	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 24 days WOW amazing. i am currently working on a bigger project (not carry on im sorry, but it IS an all for the game fic). let me know if my writing is waning at all i need that kinda feedback
> 
> thank you so much for the positive feedback though! it means a heap and make my heart a lil warm

**Simon**

As far as groceries are going, it takes an hour or so to make the list, refine the list, edit the list, and confirm the list, and for not even a minute of it was Baz there. Sad, perhaps, that his absence is the only thing I can focus on, but I can't help it. I feel a guilty sort of anxiety bubbling below my ribs, but no amount of reasoning can still it's fizzing. I sit on my bar stool, unhelpful as ever and  _think._

It's an unfamiliar concept, though, so it's no wonder I elect to drop all thoughts that I can't grasp (which is to say, all of them) and watch my friends drown in their own tension and failed resolutions. Emily can't seem to bear the sight of Agatha bumbling around, correcting pot plants and realigning books, having a  _Location, Location Location!_  commentary for an audience of 0. I can imagine how it must feel to see a ghost prancing around, debating with herself over 'Tiles vs. Wood'. Eventually, Emily and Agatha fall into a hesitant rhythm with each other, but it's rusty and ragged. Even when they discuss the oh-so-interesting curtains that Agatha apparently loves, but her mother despises.

Penny, leader of the groceries crusade, is checking cupboards and muttering curses and hexes about the lack of seasonings. I have to agree when she silently pulls out the 'spice rack', which consists of salt, pepper, ground chilli, and garlic powder. We share a look of horror and resume our tasks. Listing.  _Thinking_.

See, because I'm well aware that this is a tedious game of cat-and-mouse between Baz and I. It's infuriating, especially to myself. The only thing that makes me dread it any more, is the thought that Baz has been playing this game for longer than I can imagine. Crowley, that's a specific and brutal kind of torture.

"I think us girls will drive to the shops to pick these up!" Agatha decides, snatching the keys and grocery list up from the kitchen bench. "A couple of guys I know need to kiss and make up! I'm lending them the house."

 _Are you serious?_ "How generous of you," I retort, rubbing my hands over my face.

Agatha shoots me a shit-eating grin and twirls off. Emily looks sick at the sight of such a drastic personality shift. I can't help but wonder how this effects Emily's feelings, but we're not close enough now to talk about it. Besides, given that Agatha seems to have no problem with having Emily in her personal space, I'm sure they'll settle on something civil.

No sooner has Agatha grabbed her wallet, she's dragged Penny and Emily out to the car and driven off toward the main stretch. I rub my face again, realising I'm going to have to say  _something_  to Baz now that the distractions are gone.

The hallways leave me pensive. They stop me in my path and let me wander onto a tangent of a thought, the illusion that I'm getting somewhere close to a solution. Then, all too soon, I'm smacked backed into reality, staring at the end of the hall, dumbfounded by my own brain. Not the first time. Won't be the last. Still stings a little bit.

I find Baz in one of the 3 bedrooms, lying on one side of the bed with his phone playing a low hum of unfamiliar music. Like this, he seems angelic - not a dark creature. There's not a trace of villainy on a boy like this; solemn, vulnerable, curled up in his Watford brand football hoodie (which I am  _bloody_ jealous of). He doesn't stir when I open the door, but he's awake, and has no doubt heard me panicking all the way down the hall to see him. Either that, or he's smelt it. I'm considering setting up my bed in the fireplace just to deter the neighbours.

I knock thrice on the door-frame. He lifts his head, acting like he's surprised, and I have to deflate a little at the mischievous  _you-know-what-you-did_  glint in his eye. So I sigh, "Hey."

 "Hey," he replies, only  _just_ louder than his music.

"The girls are gone," I tell him, stepping inside tentatively. "Although...I supposed you heard that."

His head gingerly falls back onto the pillow with a responding sigh. "Did I hear Agatha announce to the heavens that she was going grocery shopping, and proceed to slam the door in her exit?" He stares intently at the ceiling. "Why yes, Simon. I think all of Brighton heard that."

I suppose it  _was_  pretty obvious. "Are you upset?" I prod.

"That Agatha went grocery shopping without me? Utterly cut."

"No," I laugh. I can't help it. I used to be much better at hiding how funny he is to me. I bite my lip to will the giggles away, walking over to the opposite side of the bed and sitting down. "I mean, with me. Are you upset with me?"

He has to think about it. That isn't good. I brace myself for him to berate me about lack of consideration and manners and such, but he only sighs again.

"I mean, a little bit," he admits, "but, only because you see this - whatever this is - as such a terrible thing. You have every reason to be alarmed, but it sort of sucks hearing the guy you fancy describe you as 'a crisis.' That was a little harsh."

Even though Baz just openly admitted, for the second time ever, that he has a crush on me, I can only grimace at how upset I've made him. I never meant for this to tangle into something so impossible and messy, not to mention fragile. Any move could be a wrong move, but not taking any risks is dangerous in itself. With that in mind, I assess the line on our physical boundaries and chose to lie down parallel to him. There's a considerable space between us, still, but it's a thrill to my butterflies in any case. The only problem is, I can't tell if this is okay.

"I know it's a lame cop out, but that's not what I was trying to say," I explain. My voice is lower than usual. I'm trying to come a across as tender, but it's beginning to sound 'borderline bad porn star'. "I'm in a weird head-space with all of this right now, I didn't think about what I was saying or who would hear it. It's not  _you_  that's the crisis, Baz. It's  _me_. I'm all over the place, barely able to hold onto a thought long enough to really consider it. I mean, one day I was completely against you and what you stand for, and the next I was spending an entire car trip imagining you against me. Physically."

Baz can barely hide his amusement. He rolls over with that big, ridiculous grin of his, and shakes his head. "You don't think before you speak, Snow," he chuckles.

"What?" I respond, equally as cheerful. "What, did you not  _want_  that answer?"

"Of course not!" A pause. "Well..."

"See!"

Baz just continues to laugh. "You're not proving any points, Simon!" He barely gets out. "You're so...!"

He stops a moment and looks over at me, meaningful. All traces of laughter are gone, dissipated into the air like it never happened. Baz regards me, his eyes soft and purposeful as he says: "...adorable."

All too soon, he's huffing something close to content, eyes back to focusing on the ceiling. His profile looks royal, like it should be on a coin, adorned with a crown, gilded. There's a small, pleased smile on his lips.

 _I adore that smile_ , I realise, with an intrusive assurance of myself. I think back on all those times I saw him smiling on the pitch after a game, or the softer, less triumphant grins he shared with his friends. I spy on that smile without realising how badly I needed to see it some days. I especially go over the few times  _I've_  made him smile. The joy it inflates in my chest is barely containable. 

I make a decision, for not even a split of a second, and I kiss the corner of his mouth.

I also briefly consider running out of the room and letting him have that much for now, but I want more. So much more.

Instead, I lay back down beside him, closer now, wishing he would react. His face remains placid, eyes now closed, his hands folded over his chest. Fleeting worries of whether I should apologise for my carelessness or not pass us by, answered with silence, silence, more silence. A few moments seems to stretch to hours before Baz is turning his head again to look at me. I bring my hand up to touch his jaw, a place I've been dreaming of touching, ( _kissing,_ ) for a long time. It feels so real underneath my fingertips. It finally registers to me that Baz - here, now,  _this Baz_  - is just a boy. A boy I want to kiss. I don't  _need_ to be frightened.

So when he kisses me, I don't think. I don't worry. I don't do anything except kiss him back, pulling him on top of me by the shoulders. My legs are numb, like wobbling like jelly as I try to push myself up closer to him. The rest of me is turning to jelly, too. My tummy is in knots that snap as quickly as they tie themselves, as quickly as he strokes his thumb over my chin, jaw, lips-  _Crowley,_ Simon, get a grip.

And I do get a grip. On him. As soon as he's kissing me, I'm touching him. Face, chest, hair, anywhere I can feel him. Grabbing handfuls of his shirt, feeling his breath stutter for not too long. Try as he might to hide it with a more forceful kiss, I can feel his nerves through the tips of his shaking fingers. He pushes, so I push, too. His hands are on my hips.They're running up my sides, it feels euphoric. Mine are just  _on him_. Anywhere.  _Everywhere_. He's so cold. Mesmerising. Can't feel anything but everything. Can't think. Can't- can't breathe.

"Wait," I gasp, hand on his chest. "I need some air."

He immediately takes his hands off of me and stalls before he lays down beside me, as though he's been awoken out of a deep sleep. I feel myself dim just a bit as he removes himself, but his fingers are still lightly brushing up and down my forearm. He feels like a reverie, wrapped up in a nightmare of reality that's bound to check in on us soon. 

"I might be drunk," he pants. His smile is so wide, I think he might break skin. "Am I drunk? This can't be real."

"It can be," I say back, reaching ever slowly for his hand. I stop myself just . "We kissed. Oh my life - we  _kissed_."

I can't stop myself from grinning, giggling, rolling over to him and leaning my cheek on his shoulder. He laughs back, lips on my forehead. He's so cold, but I'm overheating with an all consuming blush.  _That's how he makes me feel_ , I think to myself, louder than any other thought in my mind. _I want to kiss him again. Over and over._

"Does this complicate things?" Baz whispers into my hairline. "Because that would suck. I don't need to remind you, Simon, that this means a lot to me."

I do consider that. I consider how long Baz might have wanted that exact kiss for, and press my lips to his shoulder. I consider how hurt he was that his secret was outed, and hold his hand. I consider how, yes - this might complicate things - and sigh, because I want this one, simple thing.

"We'll work it out," I decide. Baz turns to me and our noses brush. It's a strange sensation that I don't expect to enjoy, yet here I am. "Maybe not now, but soon. We'll figure out where this is going and how to break it to the others. After some food."

And there's something about that breathless laugh that Baz does that feels familiar, makes me remember Watford before all of this demonic marble bullshit came about. I hold onto that sound for as long as I can, even when he says: "Yeah, that sounds all right."

 

×××

 

**Baz**

We're lying on the bed, silent, holding hands tight enough to break them. 

He kissed my face.  _He_ initiated all of this.  _Simon fucking Snow_ , a miracle in a boy. 

I can't explain how it felt to have a fanciful teenage daydream come to life in my hands, but if I could it was be in unraveled poetry. Words would drip from my lips like flowers falling from a vine. When Simon's hands were on me, all over my back and chest, my heart felt like it was blossoming into it's first heartbeats since I first fell for that golden boy. He kissed me so earnestly, it made me forget my boundless woes that he might be flattering me out of pity. It was when his hands slid into my hair that I gasped, stuttered, couldn't believe my luck. Simon bloody Snow was making out with me like he'd never see me again, and I was over the fucking moon.

I'd never understood how someone could feel an excess of magic, how Simon could let his skin burn and crack as he went off. With his eyes on me, though, surveying me with a warmth behind his eyes that I've never seen, I can't understand how I'd not known this feeling before. No one's ever looked at me  _like that._ I don't just see it on his face. I  _feel_  it. On my cheek, on my neck,  _everywhere_.

I can only wonder what he's thinking.

"This is...comfortable," I say, even though that's not even close to how I feel. I feel like I've swept through the door of my own bedroom and fallen into bed, covers pulled over my head, curled around a pillow. I almost don't have the words for it. "Feels like we're not in a fugitive mess anymore."

"Peaceful," Simon supplies. "That's the word you're looking for."

I snort and roll onto my side. "Bit simple, isn't it?"

But Simon just shakes his head. "Baz, do you ever think that you miss the point by looking for an impressive answer?" He asks. "Simple isn't a bad thing."

The thought is far too educated for Simon, I have to admit. It does make sense, though, for him to know  such a thing. I can almost see the scene; Simon stressing over a report or practice exam, Penny explaining the beauty of simplicity, that little gleam in Simon's ocean blue eyes lighting up as everything became so much less of a chore. The thought is adorable. 

But my mind wanders, as it tends to do, back to Emily and the situation I've royally fucked up. What would happen if I dropped the explanation? If I told her exactly what she's been asking for. A simple answer. No bells, nor whistles. Maybe it's as easy 3 words.

"Yeah," I reply, pressing my lips to his shoulder. "I think you're right."

Maybe it isn't about  _why_ I did it. She doesn't care about that. 

I barely have to give Simon one more lingering, lazy kiss before the door opens and Agatha makes her grand entrance known. I groan against his lips, but he doesn't quite understand me. He laughs and kisses me again, blissfully unaware that the night will end in tears. 

That this might end before it's even begun.


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i say this every time i update but holy fuck life is kicking my ass at the moment. apologies in advance to the obvious projection im doing on agatha in this one lads

**Agatha**

As much as I would love to shut the fuck up about the hilariously awkward romantic tension between dear old Basilton and the ever oblivious Simon, the opportunity to get back at them is  _too good_.

And, oh - one might wonder what kind of grudge I could possibly hold above either of them. Truth be told, it's an old conflict, rehashed with the miracle of death and rebirth.

See, I didn't appreciate being used as a rope for tug-of-war between two teenage boys (or as Basilton might call it, 'flirting'), and I intend on cashing in the pound of flesh that my humility had held me back on.

Now, maybe I'm overstepping with Baz - he did, after all, keep me hidden through the whole  _dying_  ordeal. He even jeopardised his friendship with Emily to do so. I feel a little bad for that. Mostly because Emily is miserable, and as adorable as her pout is, she also can't look at me without crying out of the corner of her eye.

Crowley, I can't even imagine how lonely she must feel right now.

That can't be helped by a trip to a supermarket, either. Unless you're a parent with toddlers or a frat boy with money, the supermarket is the loneliest place on Earth, invariably. It radiates a morose air around itself and creates a flow of pitiful woe through the baron aisles - late night on a Sunday, right before the restock. I watch her wander through the rows of shelves with a blank face and hollow steps. I longed for her to snap out of it, but according to Simon and Baz, I need to let her be upset. 

Even like this, in her compromised state, she holds herself with a certain untouchable poise, like a queen pacing her palace halls. There has never been a moment since we met that has deterred my train of thought from  _'Oh my stars, she's beautiful_ ', and that couldn't possibly change. There is no ugly part of her that I don't already know, that I don't already account to the parts I love about her. I'm in deep, I know, but it makes me feel so alive to love her.

So while she meanders past all of the things we probably wrote down on the list and Penny picks them all up behind us, I stay at odds in the middle of the two of them. Penny tells me to give it time. I tell her that there's nothing more that I want than to hold Emily close and kiss her face with no mercy. I tell her that she's wrong and that time is ruining us all, because we're all waiting for something that will never happen. There's not even a sign as to what it  _is_  we're all waiting for. Simon's waiting for an answer to an unasked question; Baz is waiting for Simon to say 'yes' or 'no'; Penny is waiting for an exit sign to go back to her family.

I'm waiting for Emily, but Emily wants... _something_.

Trailing along behind her, I wish she'd just turn around and tell me. It shouldn't be this hard. It wouldn't be this hard, had I not died.

Correction:  _been murdered_.

(I've no idea how to explain that one to my posse. Especially dear Simon. Try as he might to hate the Mage, the poor sod just wants a little bit of his life to stay in tact - it's not like he has a home to go back to anymore. 

I've considered picking up some dessert wine and fancy cheese assortments for the very occasion, but somehow 'murder' doesn't sound like a cheese and wine kind of a conversation.)

There's this annoying voice in my head that keeps reminding me that I've changed. Death brought out the recklessness in me, the parts all inspired by Emily. I thought she would like that. Finally, we're on the same wavelength, yet further apart than we've ever been. A grief washes over me in the confectionery aisle, realising I'll never be the girl Emily used to know.  _That_ girl was the one Emily liked. This version of me, standing still in the center of the supermarket, is too much. Too little of what Emily wants. What we had seemed to die the same day I did, one kiss fueled on the memories she'd rather love.

Supermarkets are very lonely indeed.

 

+++

 

Arriving back to the house, I pick up my mood  _just_ enough to bother Basilton and his boy. If there were any goings on in the house before I slammed the door open with an easy  ** _Open Sesame!_**  and declared "Oh, boys! The girls are back in town!", there was no sign of it throughout all of dinner, preparation and eating and all.

We sat around a silent table and ate our pasta, fitfully in the company of each other. Baz looked at Simon with that same schoolboy crush look, but not once did he smile. Even when the two caught eyes and Simon asked if Baz was feeling okay, the raven haired boy only looked away. He seemed to be thinking, growing progressively more unsettled as the meal went on and Simon kept  _being there._ He was the first to get up and leave, cleaning his dishes with a spell and slinking off to a locked room. (Futile move, by the way, as he has to share a room with Simon, as per sleeping arrangements, and we're all mages who can magically unlock doors.)

Simon left shortly after, moving slowly and distractedly as he cleaned his dishes the Normal way. He stared into space and let his hands soak in the hot sink water, frowning like he was analysing something. It certainly felt like he was scrutinising. The whole lounge and dining felts like pea soup, but the hot shame that rises on Simon's neck when he realises what he's doing is almost heartbreaking. Hands shaking, he leaves, Penny quickly following after him.

Which is how it comes to be only Emily and I at the table. I glance at her only once.

She leaves.

Sitting at a dinner table alone in a house full of your friends is a far sight more lonely than sitting alone in a dining hall. The weight of it presses down on my chest and wipes away the smile I've been maintaining all day. Any sense of happiness has left with my friends, and now I sit with chairs and plates and no one to speak to.

When all is quiet and the members of our party are going into hiding for the night, I manage to sneak away from the general misery of the house to the roof. 

When my parents argued, back when I was a little girl, I'd sit up here and wish on every star I could see that one day they'd  _stop_. Of course, it never worked. They would yell so much that the neighbours would turn on their lights and quietly peer out the window to see what was going on. Instead of seeing whatever they expected - a smashed window or a semi-public drunken rage - they'd see a tiny blonde girl taking solace on her roof, tear soaked cheeks and nails bitten bloody. 

I take in the quietness of the night, how it clashes with every memory I have of this place. It's only ever been a safe space from all the suffocating noise in my family, but now the silence that locks the doors in this house is the only thing I want to escape. In some ways, I wish I could hear my parents fighting again, just to feel like nothing had changed.

No lights turned on in the house on the left. The quiet old couple that lived there aren't there at all anymore. Realising that they might have come to the fate I was destined for, no way of a second chance for an innocent old couple, washes grief over me once again. I can barely understand why any of this matters, but my heart keeps beating, and that's better than it's been.

The sun roof opens just as I begin wishing on the stars again.

"Hey," Penny whispers, Simon trailing behind her looking a lighter shade than miserable. Sitting next to the two of them makes my mood seem a little brighter by comparison, which really only makes the whole situation look beyond pathetic. "You okay?"

And where I'd trained myself to say ' _yes, fine, how are you?_ ', my brain shuts down. It doesn't allow me to speak, so much as it forces me to  _say something_.

"I died," I state, feeling a dowsed and dying anger where I used to feel pain, "and it feels like everyone is treating it like such a burden that I came back to life."

"Oh," Simon exhales. "Oh, no, Agatha...it's not a burden. It's just..."

"Just a lot to take in at once," Penny supplies. "We were in the middle of grieving when you came back. It was quite a shock."

Simon hides himself away in the corner opposite to me and keeps his eyes trained on the ground. "For some more than others," he gripes. 

It's a verified statement, but it buries a seed of guilt deep down in my heart. The look of shame and remorse on Penny's face only bursts that seed open, and I feel it growing out into my veins and forcing shivers through my body. 

"I get it," I grind out. "But if I'm going to carry on being treated like a zombie, at least let me know so I can kindly fuck off for you."

"Agatha-"

"No, you don't get it! None of you do! All I ever am is  _used_ and  _hurt_  and for what?! For the hero to have his prize at the end of the day?" Simon looked away, then. "Newsflash, assholes! I've been a lesbian this entire goddamn time! And the first time I had things going  _well_  for me, I get dragged into a forest by Creepy McMage-Fuck and have him murder me with all his fancy marble powers and shit.

"And I can't even turn to my friends for support. You're all focusing on each other and on yourselves and that's  _fine_  but for  _fuck's sake_ \- I need you!" I'm crying, and I hope they realise, (Simon especially,) that this is the first time I'e let them see me cry. "Then again, why should I expect anything less from you. It's been six bloody years, not once have you ever been there for me when I needed you. No, you were too busy playing heroes and villains in this  _fantasy land_ you made up for yourselves-"

Penny leans forward to touch my arm. "Agatha-"

"Meanwhile I had to sit and wait around like a fucking dog-"

" _Agatha-_ "

"While  _you_ , Simon, and Baz took turns in making me feel like I was worth a damn to either of you, and  _none of it was real!_ " 

I scream the last part. I want to scream some more. I want to go over there and grab his throat for all the shit he did to me. I want to press my crucifix into Basilton's chest until he repents. I wouldn't do either of those things, of course, but there's a six year brewing bottle of bullshit that's just unloaded on me. Anything could be possible if someone said the wrong thing.

"I didn't realise," was all Simon had to say. He sounded raspy and upset and empty.  _Good_ , I thought.  _Feel that way._ "I'm so-"

"There's no point in apologising," I tell him, equally as deflated. "There's no way I'm going to forgive you right now, so just...give me this. For the night. Let me be angry."

We all sit, silent. I try to trace back where all of that ranting, all of that anger was unleashed. Something about the introspection on my childhood, the role I played in my parents' arguments, made me so  _mad_. Even if it wasn't their fault, and even if they didn't realise - even if it was the same with Simon and Baz - I'm evidently  _deeply_ hurt by it all. And while sometimes it's hard to pinpoint exactly what happened and what went wrong, I have to hold these people who stood by and told me that it was my role in the story (translation:  _suck it up_ ) accountable for how I feel.

 _Let me be angry_ , I hear Emily's voice whisper in the corners of my mind.  

And it feels a little bit easier to let her go.

 


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nearly a year later she resurrects herself for one (1) chapter and a plot twist for the next chap that not even i saw coming WOW pls dont hate me im trying

I listen to Agatha yelling above me and feel my chest hollow out behind my ribs. She’s got a point. We had used her.

I should be able to empathise with her about dying and coming back, feeling like a burden, wishing they had just let my heart stop beating and buried my young body in an unmarked grave. It should have been easier for Agatha to come back to us and carry on. Now, though, it's like we’re all meeting her for the first time. She’s uninhibited, arms wide open, full of life (ironically, or perhaps,  _ fortunately _ ), and reckless beyond whatever Agatha we knew before. Idly, I wonder if Emily has fallen out of love.

Emily. 

That’s one problem I have to fix soon.

Presently, though, I have to address Snow. I’ve left him a bit high and dry, the space between us when we weren’t kissing leaving too much room for me to overthink. Truthfully, I’m a mess of anxiety. Snow had properly shocked me with a kiss, even more so when I broke away from him and he  _ stayed _ . Could that really be my future? Could that at least be my  _ right now _ ? Probably not if I don’t get my act together and talk to him.

Maybe he hasn’t noticed that anything is wrong. He’s like that, isn’t he? _Daft_.

(I love it.)

As I’m looking in the mirror, trying to decide on what I’ll say to him, a small knock at the bedroom door brings me out of my Simon Snow haze. The Devil himself slinks in, looking a sore mixture of embarrassed and mourning. I can only imagine what Agatha’s admissions must feel like for him.

“Hey,” he sighs, still forcing a tight smile onto his face. “Uh, you seemed upset before. I know I should help, but I…” He whimpers. “I’m not having the best night, anymore.”

_ Anymore _ . 

I find myself standing just an inch away from him before I’m able to think twice. “I heard,” I chuckle, wiping his tears away with my thumb and drop my hands to my sides. “She’s got some lungs on her, doesn’t she?”

But Simon is growing more hysterical, leaning forward until his forehead is tentatively resting against my shoulder. My hands go to his ribs and hold him nervously. I don’t know what do. Neither of us are so equipped to deal with a night like this. Our  _ first  _ night. Crowley, I just can’t win, can I?

“Grab a coat,” I tell him softly. “We’re going for a drive.”

Briefly, I check in on Penny. It’s mostly for Simon’s sake, but I can’t deny the bond that’s formed between Bunce and I since this whole ordeal began. We’re of a similar intelligence and opposing opinions, which makes for exceptional debates. Besides that, though, she’s Simon’s acting filter and conscience. I can hardly have Simon without Penny. So, a s we walk out of the house, Simon makes a comment about getting some snacks and I use the spare time to step into Penny’s room. 

She’s on a video-call, crying.

“You ‘right?” I ask, knowing damn well the answer should be ‘no’. Penny isn't one to admit her weaknesses, though.

She slaps on a smile and corrects her glasses. “I’m fine,” she replies. On her call, a boy very loudly protests, so she hits the mute button. “I’m sorting it out, is what I mean. Take care of Simon, will you?”

“I will.” We share a nod and the boyfriend is given his speaking rights back. “Tell Micah he’s a nerd.”

_ “Hey!” _ Penny’s laptop exclaims. I leave with a grin and find Simon waiting at the door.

Instinctively, from years of a friendship with Emily, I place my hand at the small of Simon’s back and lead him through the front door. For a moment, I feel elated. _This is my life, now._ Touching Simon, kissing him, taking him for drives at night when he needs comfort. 

Only Simon was tense at the gesture, small as it was. For a fleeting moment, I wonder if this irritating insecurity is going to be a permanent installation. The joy of Simon always came with a discount. Anxiety quickly overtakes me. I feel too eager, too forward with my advances. I quickly take my hand away and ignore the clench in my heart. Snow gazes after me, hesitating to open the door.  _ Shit _ . What am I doing?

“Get in, come on,” I order, almost seriously. 

As soon as his seat-belt is buckled, I’m driving away, down roads I don’t know, unable to leave the tension behind. Snow’s eyes are averted, focusing on the road ahead. Neither of us are speaking, moving, thinking about how to break the silence.

I was so excited only 5 minutes ago but the whole occasion is dowsed. This could have been a good night for us, this could have even border-lined on  _ romantic _ , and I’m ruining it with my ruthless ego.

Merlin, maybe Snow has a point about me.

“Look, I'm not the greatest for advice, but with Agatha…” I try, but the words don’t happen. Snow barely spares me a glance, raised eyebrow and crinkled nose. “I don’t know. Don’t beat yourself up too much.”

Snow huffs. “Oh?” He replies. “Is that how you deal with everything? ‘ _ I’m completely snobbing the guy I just got handsy with, but yeah, I won’t beat myself up about it. _ ’”

“Sounds a lot like ‘ _ I’m talking about the guy who admitted he has a massive, black-hole of a crush on me, behind his back, like it’s a natural disaster and I know he can hear me- _ ’”

“Okay!” Snow laughs. “Okay, I get it. However!” He sticks a finger up. “I gave you a reason! You’re just being a prick.”

I can’t help my smile. He looks so pleased with himself. “Is that so?”

“At the moment. Why were you so distant earlier?”

There’s no easy way to put it. I still haven’t edited my exact words in my head. How do I tell him? How do I admit that I’m  _ afraid? _

Instead, I pull into a carpark that sits above Brighton beach and kill the engine. “Come on,” I tell him, pulling blankets out of the backseat. Snow grabs the snacks and follows me down to the sand. 

I settle onto the beach and wrap a blanket around my shoulders, staring out into the ocean. Snow sits beside me (well, a little way away from me, but still), taking a blanket for himself. I subtly pull my wand from my coat and point it to him.

“ **_Come together!_ ** ” I cast. Snow is shifted right up next to me. I just as swiftly place an arm around him. Snow laughs quietly. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s a bit impressed, or if its because of the spell (if you emphasise the wrong syllable...well, let’s just say, things get a bit sticky.)

“This is a contrast from how you were acting just a few minutes ago,” he mentions, leaning his head close to mine. “Not that I mind, although I’m going to catch a fever from all the hot and cold blasts.”

My cheek brushes his curls as I bite my lip. I've had a million dreams about this exact scene. “I was nervous. At the house, I- I’ve never done this kind of thing before.  _ Dating _ .” I huff. “It’s terrifying. I don’t want to look too eager, but I  _ am _ eager.”

Oh, I could pretty much feel Snow’s ego inflating. 

“I’ve wanted to be with you for a while, now,” I admit. “Since we were just first years, I thought you were adorable. Living with you was like living in Pandora's box - I felt like I was being punished to Hell and back, but then we would have a good day and I would hold onto that little bit of hope. When I was 15, I wanted to snog you. When I was 16, I wanted to date you. Now-” I hold his hand. “I’m 18 in two weeks. You’re here, with me. I only want you to stay. I’m afraid of fucking that up.”

Snow’s hands, nimble and thin, turn my head to him. “You aren’t too eager, Basilton,” he grins. “You’re perfect.”

 

+++

 

**Agatha**

 

Perhaps the dramatic speech was a bit much, and maybe I could have been nicer about the whole ordeal, but consider this: I’m satisfied. That’s that.

Still up on the roof, alone this time, I recount all of the bullshit I’ve had to endure from these people. Lists on my hands weren’t working — there was too much to note — so I began counting off strands of hair. The loneliness didn’t subside, but my chest calmed down enough for me to feel it past my anger. Crowley, this is getting too much for me. It feels like there’s no one left. 

I can hear the ocean behind the beach and see the lights upon the water. I can remember the way it felt to suffocate. The car pulls away and I can see it’s only Simon and Baz, leaving us girls to sit in our corners and lick our wounds.

One thing about the new Agatha Wellbelove: I don’t wallow in self-pity and wait for the world to spin my way. I move, the fuck, on.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls forgive me im still dedicated to my craft


End file.
